Drawn In Anger
The address was in the Tangle.
There were times when Twilight genuinely forgot how old Canterlot was. The buildings, yes: there were portions of the capital which were effectively impossible to change because any serious attempt to at least clean a bit of patina would draw screams of protests from a dozen self-titled Historical Preservation Societies, who never seemed to care very much about preserving anypony's lungs after they were forced to inhale centuries of untouched dust. But the streets themselves... Twilight generally didn't think about that part, not until the Tangle brought it all back. Because Canterlot had been born in the time before zoning laws and planning boards and the simple idea of laying things out along straight lines, and so this ancient part of the capital featured winding streets of variable widths and twisting curves: go around a bend and greet a five-way intersection of three-lane spiral launches, head down the leftmost one for a mere block and have it narrow to the point where Twilight could barely work her body through -- and she was noticeably thinner than the average adult unicorn mare. After factoring in the laden saddlebags she'd brought along, it had taken a few extremely-short-range teleports to allow her passage, and she'd still wound up backtracking a few times after her map brought her to a location with no ready egress and a total lack of reliable sight lines to the next section: the distorted nature of the buildings which matched the curves of those haphazard lanes also meant shadows often clustered more thickly than they should.
She'd never liked the Tangle. It wasn't just the offense dealt to that part of her mind which always insisted on organization, and the fact that the eastern edge was right up against the Aviary and the other tiny non-pony species neighborhoods had nothing to do with it, at least during those times when the scents of sadly non-distant cooking weren't besieging her nostrils. It was the reputation. Canterlot didn't really have a place where the organized criminal element liked to hang around, mostly because anypony (or anyone) who tried to set themselves up as such was typically spotted and ousted in a hurry -- but those who aspired to the slightly-safer level immediately below that often took up residence in those warped buildings. Families lived in the Tangle, children played in peace while the parents worked -- but worked at what wasn't always the best question.
She was stopped four times during her journey. A group of colts wanted her to kick their ball back. One pony had seen she was lost and offered directions: she'd skittishly accepted, been on her guard the whole time -- and had eventually been led to the proper fork. And two had whispered to her from different shadowed alleys, one offering field booster drugs, and the other tulips. The mare was now in the custody of the police (which had required Twilight working her way back out and then in again, carrying the screaming pusher for blocks until she'd finally gotten frustrated and clamped an extra field bubble around the jaw). The stallion had escaped through throwing his entire inventory in Twilight's snout and fleeing into those shadows while her brain was trying to process the completely unfamiliar scent.
She tried to tell herself she wasn't scared and some of the time, it was even true. There wasn't a lot of room for fear within her. A slow-burning rage had occupied most of the available space.
Twilight had read the brochure. Immediately after teleporting home following Rainbow having brought it to the hilltop, and several times during the train ride in. And every pass-through had made her progressively more furious, an emotion the endless wandering and backtracking and getting lost had done nothing to counter...
But she was at the right building now. She was sure of that. It was process of elimination, really. None of the other street signs had been so harshly scratched as to render the name illegible. And as for the building itself... well, the numbers above the door might have been removed (and probably against the shouted wishes of at least three different Societies), but the imprints from where they had once been were still visible, lighter shadows cast by centuries of blocked weather.
She sorted through her saddlebags, brought out the brochure again.
The Equestrian Cutie Mark Constellation Registry
133 Spotted Pup Way
Suite 522
Canterlot, EQ 00001-1074
Twilight squinted up at the prybar-created contrast. Definitely a pair of threes, and since 132 had been on the previous section of curve...
The warped building loomed. It seemed to lean over the narrow road. Twisted windows almost leered.
She glared right back at them, then went through the main entrance.
There was no help desk waiting inside, and she hadn't really expected any. A series of dusty mailboxes adorned one wall, along with a directory which had most of its words rendered as illegible as the street sign through what was starting to become a familiar pattern of scratches. She counted her way along the mailboxes, wiped away a little dust from the glass panel on what seemed to be the proper choice, and saw a wall of paper waiting within.
She found the main ramp. Back and forth, up to the fifth floor.
The building was... quiet. No ponies passed her in the hallways, and she would have expected a little traffic, especially since Sun was now approaching the noon position and it would have been natural for some ponies to head out for lunch. If she strained, she could hear muffled speech, taps of hooves against devices. There was a curse at one point, brief and rapidly hushed. But all of it seemed too distant, and she was alone within worn hallways of a sickly greenish-brown which hadn't seen fresh paint since the building had twisted its way towards the sky, all lit by spells flickering on the perpetual verge of final failure as the last thaums threatened to drain away.
She passed a door labeled #518, with #519 on the other side of the hallway. #520 was next, followed by a long gap, and then...
...#524.
Twilight stopped.
Maybe it had been tucked into a recess during the last curve. She turned, backtracked...
...to #520.
Stopped again.
Her tail lashed twice. The fur of her coat was starting to lie against the grain.
"Don't tell me," she whispered. "No, let me guess..."
She closed her eyes. For the next few seconds, sight would not be important. And reached out, tried to feel...
...the resonance hit her first, almost comically weak, the emotion of dismissal pressing against her thoughts to the point where she was able to imagine words within the pitiful whisper. "It's not here. You must be in the wrong place. Don't bother looking for it any more. It's probably on another floor, another street, moved to another city. Don't bother. It's not worth the effort. Just turn around, give up, forget you were ever here or ever had a reason to come looking, it's not really that important..."
But a whisper was all there was, and so it stood no chance of working on her, especially when she'd picked up on the feel of fading magic twined into it.
A security spell. Illusion coupled with resonance. Somepony doesn't want me finding this place. Doesn't want anypony finding it. I'm not authorized to be here and they want me to go away.
Her expression twisted into a smile, every bit as warped as the building.
Buck you.
Her horn ignited. Glow rushed down the wall, over the nearest even-numbered door, pushing inwards. Ancient paint crackled against the pressure. A few small bubbles burst, pieces of broken domes drifting to the dirty floor. And there was something like a muffled buzzer, and a sound much like a suppressed shout of alarm, and the rattle of a lever...
Seconds later, the door opened, and the occupants of the shabby office, including the three very large stallions at the waiting security desk, were all staring at the slightly-built purple unicorn mare calmly standing in the gap.
"Hello," she calmly said. "I would like to speak to the pony in charge of this establishment. Immediately, if that's at all possible."
The stallions charged.
The pinkish field lanced forward.
There was a sound. It mostly came across as having been produced by three very large bodies being slammed against the ceiling, with a hint of the desks resting on the floor of the office immediately above having been momentarily jolted into the air.
"I understand this may not be entirely convenient," Twilight peacefully added. "However, the instinctive rudeness still feels a little out of place. And I am not going to just wait in a corner until the workday ends. Also, if anypony tries to teleport out, I'll feel it and be slightly offended." Which wouldn't help her if a pegasus business owner went out a window, but the majority of the office's occupants seemed to be unicorns, at least after she took out the three who were trying to deal with the sudden presence of light fixtures in the middle of their broad backs, along with several asteroids. "If all goes well, then this won't take very long. And if all goes poorly, then it'll take even less time. So if there's somepony in particular I should be speaking to...?"
The eight ponies sitting at their drawing tables stared at her over the slanted surfaces. Two were desperately trying to put charts away. There were so many charts. The entire ceiling was a chart, a perfect one, drawn with an expertise which made Twilight want to meet the artist, press her forehoof against theirs, and then spend five minutes in yelled argument about what that party had been thinking to accept the commission. The constellations were filled in perfectly, concepts of what would go around the outlines painted to masterpiece level, the Barding nearly took over her attention all by itself until she noticed that the shadows across most of it had been created by the security pony whom she was pressing into the light which substituted for the Nightsun.
"Any time now," she told them all. "Or should I head directly to that one door?"
The door, at the absolute back of the large room, which had faded brass lettering embossed into the wood, opened. An elderly head poked out, horn-first.
"And you are...?" the speckled white-and-midnight unicorn mare said, shaking what little remained of the thunderstorm mane.
"The pony with a complaint."
"I can see that," the mare calmly replied. "You do realize you are in the middle of committing assault, yes? Or do I need the police to remind you?"
"They charged me first," Twilight steadily countered.
"Did they?" She glanced up at the security ponies, the largest of whom managed a weak nod. "Perhaps they were simply trying to show you the way to a visitor's bench. Enthusiastically. We do get a little nervous when somepony new comes in unannounced, you understand. Still, it's a question of just how it'll be seen, so... I suppose if you're willing to put them down, I'm willing to give you a few minutes. With the understanding that, with the exception of just possibly turning a page or flipping a saddlebag lid, all horns will remain dark. As they should in the case of two ponies having a peaceful, professional conversation."
Twilight made an internal note of the fact that none of the unicorns in the office had even tried to cast any kind of offensive or defensive spell, then nodded.
"Thank you," the mare said. "Now -- about my staff?"
Twilight put them down. Near the back door, where she could see them.
"And again," the mare added. "Very well. With me, if you please...?"
Twilight followed her into the office. The security stallions backed away as she passed.
There was a window, and Twilight noted with small satisfaction that it showed signs of somepony having recently tried -- and failed -- to open it and reach the wide ledge just barely visible beyond. There was a desk. There were accounting ledgers, two full shelves worth. And there was an elderly mare, who took the bench behind the desk and stared at her.
"And what is the nature of your complaint? I believe I can answer it. Or rather, our legal department can, once they return from having made their way out for lunch an hour early under my snout."
Twilight's horn ignited at the partial level, and the instinctive drawing-back of the mare gave her no small pleasure -- but as promised, all she did was flip back the lid of her left saddlebag. "What's your name?"
"Myself? Psevdeis Asterismo. I own this business, or at least I own it for the current generation. My eldest granddaughter will be taking over for me soon, probably in a few moons. I feel retirement approaching, and rather quickly. And you?"
"Twilight Sparkle."
There was no recognition. There hardly ever was, and in this case, it felt like a blessing. "Very well. So, Ms. Sparkle... what can my legal department clear up for you today?"
She ignored what seemed to be a clearly implied threat. "One of my friends recently purchased this work from you." Her field extracted the frame, placed it on the desk.
Ms. Asterismo squinted at it. "Ah, yes. The Silvery Starlight Special. Did she remember to inquire about the bulk rate for all her friends? If she orders at least five more, the price per unit drops to --"
Which was when Twilight realized she'd placed the frame chart-side down. "Look at this." The barely-lesser offense would come first.
Her field flipped the frame over.
Ms. Asterismo stared.
"Oh. Oh, my."
Is this all it takes? Somepony to confront you with your con? Twilight smiled. "Interesting, isn't it?"
"Very." She glanced up. "Ms. Sparkle, you actually have the rarest of things which ever ventures into our offices: a legitimate complaint."
Which made Twilight blink. She -- shouldn't be folding her grouping this fast -- should she? But vocally, she pressed forward. "And what do you plan to do about it?"
"For starters? Open the frame." A weak, quavering white field did so. "I require all my employees to sign their work along the edges, in case I need to check who produced a particular piece. And given that I don't feel like searching the books right now -- ah, there we are, and just who I thought it would be. Luster! Get in here!"
A startled gasp made its way into the room. Half a minute later, a medium-sized teenage midnight-blue unicorn stallion followed it, white tail dragging all the way.
"My youngest grandchild," Ms. Asterismo introduced him. "We're a family business, for the most part. For a very long time now. Luster, I want you to look at this chart. Closely."
The teen squinted.
"O-oh," he stammered. "I remember this one. I just had it mailed out a few days ago. I think it's the very last page in the latest book."
Latest book?
"How nice to know some part of your memory is functional," Ms. Asterismo falsely purred. "I will soon be testing the rest. And is there any reason you remember this particular chart, Luster?"
He was starting to sweat. "It was... complicated. It's not a common mark. I couldn't find anypony in the office who'd drawn it out before. I even went down to the Archives because I was just having that much trouble, but it wasn't anywhere in the stacks --"
Stacks? No, he's just using the nickname for the Archives themselves...
"-- at least that I could find before I gave up on searching. And then I remembered a cluster of stars I could use --"
"Yes, I see that," Ms. Asterismo sharply cut in. "Would you care to name them?"
He brightened slightly. "Oh! That's easy! She wanted it called The Sonic Rainboom Of Loyalty! Grandma, did you ever hear that kind of nonsense before? I read the letter she sent in with the voucher, and talk about an ego --"
Luster abruptly seemed to catch on to the twin facts that not only was there still another pony in the room, but his grandmother was no happier with him than before. They combined to shut him up, and rather quickly.
"Look at those stars," the elder said. "Carefully. And then name them."
Slowly, with great internal pain, as if the words had been kicked out one syllable at a time with the launching hooves going into his diaphragm, "They're -- part of -- the Commander."
"Yes, they are. And what is the rule?"
"We..." The sweat was beginning to transition into froth. "...we don't use any part of the Ancients. But her mark was so complicated, and her letter insisted that the colors had to be right, and honestly, the way she wrote, she didn't come across as knowing anything..."
"And why don't we use the Ancients?"
No answer.
A chipped forehoof pounded on the desk. "Respect! They are the eldest of the constellations! They have been in the sky since the Princess came to us! We respect our history!"
And the rather stunned, extremely stupid teenager weakly said "I thought it was because they were the only ones most ponies would recognize at all."
His hind legs collapsed under the weight of his grandmother's stare.
"Get out," she told him, and he went, dragging himself along with his forehooves.
The elder sighed. Twilight stared at her.
"And I believe you can see," she dryly said, ignoring the disbelieving gaze, "why he will not be taking over the business. My apologies, Ms. Sparkle. While his mind is clearly not up to remembering the actual reason behind our little rule, the fact is that the rule has been broken. I will locate your friend's order in our files and pass her mark to my most accomplished charter instead of entrusting her eternal record to the least. If you're willing to stay for a few hours, I can probably give you a proper version well before the Moon is raised. Or you could just drop back at your leisure, or trust us to mail the replacement -- although I'll certainly understand if your trust has been somewhat injured, along with that of your poor friend. I can imagine her reaction upon seeing that the Commander had been sullied..."
Another sigh, which held no more regard for Twilight's reaction than the first.
"We usually don't do this," she went on, "but I believe I can throw in an upgrade to the meteorite frame, with a protective spell added..."
"It's still a fake constellation! It's a con! You're still ripping my friend off!"
Slowly, Ms. Asterismo got off her bench, never taking her eyes off Twilight's furious face, ignoring the heaving rib cage and bits of filly-like sparks shooting from the horn. Trotted around the desk, came to a stop facing the younger unicorn, eyes fearless.
"I see," she slowly began, "a bit of our brochure sticking out of your saddlebag. You read it, did you not?"
Twilight tightly nodded, which was all she trusted herself to do.
"Then how has my business 'ripped your friend off'?"
She can't... she can't be serious -- she knows...
"It's not a real constellation," Twilight hissed. "It's not official. It's not recognized. It's a con job. I'm an astronomer --" on the hobby level, for the most part, but she'd had three papers published, with two coming from her personal (and interrupted) observations of the previous year's solar eclipse. "-- and I would know."
The elderly mare -- snickered.
"Which explains so much of your reaction," she laughed. "Oh dear, Ms. Sparkle... have your delicate sensibilities been offended? Then let me put your concerns to rest, or rather, send them to court to die along with those of everypony else who ever reached this office. I have conned nopony."
"How can you say --"
"-- at all. Ever. My business has done exactly what it promised to do." The right forehoof made the lightest of stomps against the floor: not threat, but punctuation. "My employees have charted your friend's mark, using the stars as a guide -- in this case, admittedly doing so rather poorly and in violation of our house rule. That chart was registered with the Canterlot Copyright Office in a bound book, and a copy of that tome was then encased in the Canterlot Archives, along with all the rest. We sent her a copy of the chart. With a frame. And that is exactly what we promised to do."
"But you said --"
"No. I did not. I never have, nor did my father, or his grandmother, or anypony in all the time before that. The original words were written very carefully, Ms. Sparkle -- so carefully that in being challenged at trial time and time again, we have never lost. Anything beyond that -- you decided to place there yourself. Your friend as well. And I am hardly responsible for what the two of you decide to imagine, now am I?"
The words she'd read so many times during the ride in were floating within her inner vision. And for the first time, Twilight realized they included phrases she'd inserted into the text herself, editing on inference...
"Is it sinking in now?" Ms. Asterismo snidely asked. "Are you starting to see the folly of your protest? One chart: drawn, registered, archived. We have done exactly what our brochure obliges us to do. What we promise and deliver on, every time. Anything else, Ms. Sparkle... you, and so many before you, did on their own. We provide a service, a service which ponies come back to time and time again, their generations following in step with ours, because they need to remember --"
And her voice softened. The snide expression faded away. Her posture went rigid, purposeful, noble, she seemed to be suffused with energy from within...
"-- and they need to believe in memory," she softly continued, her voice almost regal. "They need to believe -- that outside of the shadowlands, while they wait for the reunion in the waving grass of the last fields, that somepony remembers. Will always remember. That the stars remember."
The aged head slowly shook, and the light in her eyes dimmed.
"Official constellation," she said. "Fools, all of you. And so I will say what I say to all fools, Ms. Sparkle: see you in court. I look forward to yet another victory. In the meantime... I believe your friend will receive her replacement in the mail. I'm not certain I can trust a unicorn of proven high field strength and decidedly low intelligence in my office any longer. So with that said -- get out."
And Twilight, tail tucked between her legs, posture half-collapsed under the weight of failure... left.
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Ah, the dreaded Exact Words. A con's first ressource. Curious to see what Twilight does with that. Of course, I'm going to read it now.
Heh. Ban's still in place, Celly?
¡These conartists are as scummy as homeopaths!
6211325
Homeopathy is invaluable,¹ providing what mainstream medicine refuses to,² and offers efficacy mainstream medicine can only dream about.³ To compare the two is defamatory in the extreme,⁴ and frankly I’m sickened that you would stoop so low.⁵ 
Did you really just compare homeopathy to the E.C.M.C.R.?
¹ No, really, it cannot be valued.
² i.e., placebos.
³ Well, nightmares are a type of dream…
⁴ The E.C.M.C.R. provides a good that has, at the very least, value as a novelty, whereas homeopathy only offers a false sense of security that can get you killed.
⁵ No, really, how could you besmirch the E.C.M.C.R. like that?
6215224
Nopony ever reads the fine print...and when they read between the lines, they tend to put whatever they want there.
That's the understatement of the century.
Pfffffffft.
Since misinterpretation happens frequently, a disclaimer should be added to the pamampaphlet. Perhaps use that in court?
I see what you did there.
Ah yes, the good old "this is a novelty item that has no real world value or application, and if you took it seriously, that's on you for being too stupid to read the fine print and/or look up the definition of 'novelty'" defense.